#ily ptsd (kinda)

[hauntingblue]

Zoro saw the kuma bomb and went well... we might need some help....

[barrenclan]

Still kinda shocked we only had three cat deaths during the Defiance stuff, but hey!! We made it out!!

NOOO THE BOY IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT!! YOU SAVED THEM WITH THE POWER OF NOTHING REMEMBER???? AGH

had to take a biiig pause at the rainhaze slugpelt panels. geez. the emotions make them stop

NOO BLACKNOSE DOESN’T KNOW?? DON’T MAKE DAFFY THE ONE TO TELL NOOOOOOOO

strange way for them to reconnect, but hopefully plum and bee can take this time to work together and get over their differences!!

GOOOD THE EGRETTAIL STUFF. glad we could get closure on them, i loved the little stuff we got from their relationship, and egrettail seeing her like another kit she took in?? aaaa… egrettail ily

LET’S GOOOO REDSTAR TIME!!!! FUCKING GET COOTSTORM!!!!! byebye loser time for us to book it!

oMG NIGHTBERRY KNEW??? AHHHHHH. that makes me wonder.. did cypressfoot die and just.. close her eyes, accept it?

i’ve broken into a million pieces and glued myself together. so many emotions all in one package. ty

Believe me, if I could've spared more of those cats, they would've been on the chopping block.

Unfortunately Pinepaw now has some big Survivor's Guilt and PTSD splashes to deal with, which sadly won't be going away for a very long time. Poor boy.

Well, Blacknose does know, in a sense. But dementia often causes people to forget about deaths of a loved one, especially after such a traumatic event.

We're gonna get into a lot of Nightberry lore in the next issue. But while Cypressfoot did try to fight the foxes, she wasn't surprised when felt teeth around her throat. Only pain, and fear, and sadness.

I'm glad you liked the issue, hehe.

[oleander-nin]

That thing that SS Cake said about Raph is true! Dug through my database to find the screenshot lol

Raph ptsd canon (?)

Also, to Cake (if you see this):

Don't tell yourself you're not as good at analysis because you're not a writer! I don't write, and idk how good my character analysis skills are, but they're two completely different things! Everyone starts by just putting things out there, there's no initiation or prerequisites. Most of the coolest most talented people I've met on Tumblr are surprisingly just like everyone else. Just people that sit down and do things they like to do. It's quite reassuring to find that out personally.

Sorry Ollie I'm barely talking to you at this point- you're kinda the messenger lol

ANYWAYS- I LOVE YOU OLLIE- SORRY /p

(AND SS CAKE IF YOU'RE READING THIS I THINK YOU'RE COOL <3)

SCREAMS, THANK YOU BITTY

don't have much to say here since this is for SS Cake, but ily bitty/p, and I don't mind being a messenger between y'all👍

[sewers-headmates]

HAPPY DAY OF THE BIRTH tis your fave doctor who nerd back again. polycule ship, 9th doctor/rose tyler/jack harkness? ily bro /p

NINEROSE NINEROSE NINEROSE … and jack also ig /nsrs (kidding i love this polycule)

ALSO THANK YOU FOR HAPPY BIRTHDAY WISHES

Name: The Doctor, Doctor, 9, Nine, Ninth

Age: under wraps (he doesn’t really count anymore)

Gender: genderfluid, presents masc

Pronouns: any

Sexuality: pansexual

Species: time lord

Source: dr who

Roles: protector

cisIDs: time lord, regeneration, PTSD, autistic, socially awkward

transIDs: transHarmless, permaHappy, transClingy, transDPD

Other Labels: polyamorous

Appearance:

Name: Rose Marion Tyler

Age: 19

Gender: female

Pronouns: she/her

Sexuality: bisexual

Species: human

Source: dr who

Roles: soother, energizer

cisIDs: blonde, ADHD, ambitious, brave, hyperromantic, social, DPD, british

transIDs: transImmortal, transHypersexual, transAutistic, transOCD

Other Labels: polyamorous, kinda the glue of the three

Appearance:

Name: Javic Piotr Thane, Jack Harkness

Age: 38

Gender: male

Pronouns: he/him

Sexuality: omnisexual, fem preference

Species: human

Source: dr who

Roles: caretaker, protector

cisIDs: brown hair, time agent, con man, NPD, god complex, ADHD, problematic silly man /lh

transIDs: transOCD, transDelusions, transBlueEyes, transToothGap, transShapeshifter

Other Labels: polyamorous

Appearance:

hope you enjoy the disaster polycule!!! they are a mess but they love each other

-mod richie

[whatsnewalycat]

Hi! I just saw an ask where you said you were doing EMDR. Can you tell me a bit about your experience with it? My therapist has also been recommending EMDR to me and I am very intrigued but also kinda cautious because the premise sounds absolutely ridiculous. Has it helped with trauma responses? Do you feel any better?

😘💕ily

It has helped so much. Like I know it’s just a stupid brain trick, but it works.

Most of the time I do ART (accelerated resolution therapy), which is very very similar to EMDR (eye movement desensitization and reprocessing).

EMDR utilizes bilateral stimulation (with eye movements for visual stimulation, headphones for audio stimulation, or taps/vibrating paddles for touch stimulation). The therapist asks you to recall the traumatic incident while doing whichever method of stimulation you choose. I don’t know the science exactly, but the L-R stimulation does something to your brain that makes it easier for memories and associated memories to come forward. You allow your thoughts wander wherever they do and see what comes up and communicate it with your therapist. Your therapist guides you through the process of reframing your traumatic memories and the thoughts you have about yourself because of those traumas.

From what I understand, ART is very similar, but the reframing you do is basically recording over the traumatic memories with a memory of something more positive. We do the eye movement thing and I think about the memory, letting it play through and allowing anything else that comes up to play through. Once we get through that shitshow, he asks me to “rewrite the scene with what I wanted, needed, or deserved.” So I play the memory over again and again the way I think it should have been until, when I think about it, my rewrite is what plays in my head. If anything residual comes up, we do some visual imagery stuff to cover it and burn it and blah blah blah.

I hate it and I love it.

Throughout this process, I’ve had a few memories come up from my childhood that my brain completely blocked out but my body still reacted to. When this happens it’s fucking upsetting and earth-shattering, but finding the root of my trauma responses helps me understand myself more, and the therapy blunts the effects of the trauma and how I react to triggers.

My trauma responses have improved markedly. When my children cry or get upset, or when men raise their voices around me, or when my husband tries to initiate sex, I don’t get triggered. I can’t remember the last time I had an episode of derealization. Not only that, but I can recognize why I had those visceral reactions to whatever stimuli triggered me.

It has changed my life for the better and as someone with c-ptsd I 100% recommend trying either therapy. It helps in a way that CBT (cognitive behavioral therapy) never did—although CBT definitely helped with my anxiety, depression, and intrusive thoughts.

If you want to learn more about EMDR and how it works, there’s this book “The Body Keeps The Score” by Bessel Van Der Kolk that dives heavy into it. This dude is like the Forrest Gump of trauma work and is suuuuper insightful in the results of ppl with ptsd/c-ptsd doing EMDR.

ANYWAY SORRY THIS WAS SO LONG. I’m just real passionate about mental health. I encourage you to try EMDR and/or ART if you struggle with ptsd. Every time I go it’s like FUCK OK FINE I GUESS but I am so so so glad I started because I’m miles away from where I started.

[tortoisebore]

i just know these next two chapters are gonna be so worth the wait and all your hard hard work is gonna pay off !!! you’re writing is soso good because you care !!!! and sometimes when we care a lot, we struggle just as much !!! but it’ll be worth it in the end !!! ily and your writing so much and i’m so excited for what you have in store for us :)

this is so nice i’m 😭😫🫶💖💞🤲💓🫶

thank u for saying this!!!! i’m not a writer by any means, i just do this for fun, so it is always hard on some level but it’s been particularly hard to write remus’ chapter!! it’s like……,piecing together his entire life and detailing his past enough that who he is in the present becomes more clear & we can finally understand his motives in the entire story leading up to this point…….within like 10,000 words fhfhfhffhfh and i do care so i do wanna do it right but it just…..,won’t come out fhfhffh

and first draft writing is always bare bones and kinda bad but this first draft feels particularly bare bones. like i’m having trouble finding remus’ voice outside of the part of the story we’ve already covered ughhhdhhthrh i’m gonna k*ll him before it’s all over i swear he’s on my last nerve rn

on the other hand sirius is working w me wonderfully like he’s somehow being easy breezy beautiful while we write like 10k words of childhood trauma & ptsd & severe attachment issues 🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃🙃

but it’ll all work itself out soon and it will be worth it!!! i love them so much i cant wait for u all to read all about their lives before they found each other 💓🫶💖💞🤲✨💖💞

[usaigi]

🏳️‍🌈💎 for whatever hyperfixiation you want

💎 are there any fun facts or trivia that you would like to share?

Jessica Henwick, the actress who plays Colleen, was invited to audition for Xu Xialing in Shang Chi but turned it down because she has hope they're bring back Colleen. I personally really hope they do, I'd love to see her as Iron Fist

🏳‍🌈 do you have any headcanons (lgbt, race, neuro, etc) that are important to you? (I got this one twice so I'm going to split up my response, here's the other half)

Misty - She keeps not showing up in the comics arcs I'm reading so atm all I got is lesbian for Colleen. Misty ily bb I'll be back

Luke - Bi King 💪 It's not weird to cuddle your bros, man. You've just been brainwash by the patriarchy 😒 (But for real, growing up in Georgia in a religious community and going to marines, then the police academy and the prison, Luke spend a lot of time having to unlearning toxic masculinity and still struggles with being vulnerable with his friends. As the group's protector, he often struggles with feeling like he has to suppress and hide his emotions to be their rock) PTSD & OCD

Elektra - Half Cambodian half French, raised Greek. BPD/NPD with murderer tendencies but she's working on it

Layla - Coptic ✌️ Bi 🌈 "oh cool, we finally have a muslim on the team. yay diversity." "I'm actually coptic orthodox" "Shucks. Are we sure we shouldn't hire Ms Marvel?

MK - Sephardic Jewish + Cuban + Guatemalan & PTSD DID BPD Autism. "Wow that's a lot of labels" "Yeah, it was buy one mental illness get 3 free. The alters sale was steal too." In general the system's identities as cishet partly because of Marc but also because of heteronormativity and the fact they're happily married to a woman but some part identity differently (Dani as a lesbian, Mr Knight as AroAce. etc etc). & I think it would be super funny if this was not canon in the AU, this is just what Jake thinks is going on and how he explains the H4H relationship to his system and Layla. Layla, of course, is confused at first b/c.... Wow....Americans. And then she meets Claire and realizes she's bi too

Felicia - colombiana mami 🇨🇴 "Hey isn't it kinda of stereotypical of you to be Colombian and a narco[the King Pin]?" "Mami, if I were a narco's wife, maybe. But this is just feminism. Why should a gringo make all the money?"

send me a ask about my media hyperfixation

[holding-monsters-hands]

hi u already KNOW who it is but i have a kinda outta the ordinary one. like yk i ship dennis x rocky n if u have no interest in it or r uncomfortable w it you don’t have to write this but could u POSSIBLY….make a hc list of rocky x dennis stuff. like general stuff maybe sum romance or very sweet stuff, maybe angst in the middle or something here n there i’ll take anything u have to offer guh ily muah

ABSOLUTELY I LOVE THE DYNAMIC YOUVE CREATED FOR THEM ITS SO CUTE <33

Dennis x rocky HCS

Dennis is rocky’s #1 helper! whether it’s reminding him to take his meds, to eat, or just helping him get up in the mornings, he’s always there <3

Rocky just, absolutely adores dennis and constantly lets him know that through acts of service or verbally

actions wise he’ll help clean up dennis’ room whenever it’s messy and dennis has no urge to clean, or just by fixing his messy hair and making it look all nice.

verbally, rocky is the cheesy nicknames KING- and it always flusters the hell out of dennis, stuff like “Handsome, big man, sweetheart, cutie, etc.”

another thing they do is try to plan little dates for themselves just to keep things exciting! although the dates themselves are pretty toned down, usually just cuddles and a movie or a candle-lit dinner!

Though I need to mention that rocky does have some.. rough days. He’s getting old, especially his mind- and there are times where he forgets where he is, and what’s going on and just spirals into a confused breakdown.

It’s mostly PTSD related, however dennis immediately tries to come to the rescue- going to give him gentle reminders as to what’s going on, where he is and that he is completely safe and loved.

it doesn’t work immediately most of the time, but it does help get rocky to deescalate. And he just.. appreciates his silly boyfriend so much <33

[cursedmyuu]

Trying to relearn how to use this app. I haven’t used tumblr consistently in god, probably over 5 years by now?? So it feels weird to jump back into. I used to be really good at tagging for organizing purposes but its not as intuitive for me now. I will get there! Its kinda nostalgic though, feels like I’m a teenager again with all my unstable, disregulated moods (ty ptsd and audhd ily) and using this tumblr again.

The biggest thing, I think, is making my timeline more lively again. I used to follow so many blogs on my old accounts, I have to rebuild that up again. And also kill this art block. I’ve been doodling here and there, but most of my time is catered to my mental healing journey, work, playing ffxiv to distract my brain, and my kitties (which now has the lovely addition of two 9 week old kittens and the not so lovely subtraction of a beloved elderly pet. Still miss him lots 💗)

[overtxure]

‘ i’ll be right here. don’t worry. ’

soft angst starters

   Sheets clung to her sweat soaked frame; her breathing rapid as pallid digits clawed at the fabric encasing her–trapping her, almost–as she fought her way free. Azure oculus still had not adjusted to the black hue that surrounded her, and in her panic, appendages reached forwards, seeking anything of comfort.

   She was drowning; drowning in the void. The soldier could feel chaos’ embrace around her throat, dragging her back to the depths of Valhalla–the screams of the souls she could not save resonant, imploring for their new goddess to return. Lightning’s hysteria became audible, filling her ambience as she cried out for help–for anyone. No, not again. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to go back there.

   As soon as the darkness had come to pull her back, something else found its way around her body, seeming to pull her back towards the light. The presence was warm and inviting; familiar. Grasping at the new aura she sensed, the warrior fought against the chaos that threatened to drag her under, until she fell into the arms of her savior–Hope.

   She didn’t have to see him in the darkness of the room, or hear his voice, to know it was him. His scent engulfed her senses, and as his body pressed against her own, they fit like two pieces of a puzzle made for one another. Appendages wrapped around the silverette, firm enough that it were surprising she had not hurt him. But she didn’t care. He was here. He had saved her again, just as he had before. 

   Head buried into his shoulder, the pinkette began to slow her rapid breathing; the silverette’s fingers combing through her pink locks, soothing her panic. It’s okay, you’re safe.

   His words of solace kept her demons at bay, reminding them that even when she couldn’t fight them, there were always someone around who would. Lightning felt his brims press to her forehead and eyelashes kissed her cheeks, the despair that had trapped her earlier, all but vanished into the same darkness it had escaped. She wanted to apologise for waking him, but she knew he would scold her for it, so the words fell away. It weren’t the first time it had happened, and as much as she wished it would be the last, it were possible it weren’t. If only she were strong enough to fight her own battles, like she once had been.

   “Don’t let go,” she muttered, slight desperation detectable on her tone, when she felt him ease his grip on their embrace. She knew she would only sleep peacefully tonight within the safety of the walls that were his arms. 

   Lightning felt her counterpart shake his head–a silent promise he would always be there, as the two fell back down onto the bed, his embrace never faltering. I’ll be right here, don’t worry.  

[deadwriter16]

Bkdk

starting off with the obligatory…man what are some headcanons i haven’t shared?

deku is both the more possessive and more jealous one. people think it’s bkg but nah it’s deku you wanna look out for

bkg never gets over the feeling of being undeserving and has a hard time forgiving himself. he’s not even sure if he really ever did but thankfully deku has forgiven him and loves bkg enough for the both of them

deku is an absolute slut for the holiday season, and basically all the holidays ever. bkg thinks every single one of them is pointless except for japanese holidays of course, cause he actually believes in them. but he’ll indulge in izuku’s western holiday traditions because he loves deku

bkg has more nightmares than deku and also has more severe panic attacks and PTSD symptoms. on bad days a hug or even a handshake is too much and deku, despite being a touchy person, will always back off and kinda be like bkgs guard dog on his bad days. deku will bite anyone’s head off for coming near bkg if he needs to

bkg is asexual and deku is demiromantic. deku has never experienced romantic attraction for someone other than bkg and while he is horny for kacchan he doesn’t actually give any fucks if they do the nasty or not…so they just don’t. or they do, if bkg wants to. you’ll never know it’s their business lol. no seriously though deku is super supportive and bkg loves him sm

the first time deku got into a bad accident and landed in the hospital after they started dating he woke up and saw the absolute pain and horror in bkgs eyes, realized that he made kacchan cry, and he didn’t even need bkgs lecture on self preservation to stop being so reckless. deku got the lecture anyway and listened carefully to it cuz he was like I deserve this I made kacchan cry

bkg got all the relationship firsts except saying i love you first and proposing. ily because he had a very hard time saying it while deku could say it all the time, though eventually bkg was able to say it, and proposing bc deku beat him to it. but bkg got confessed first, kissed deku first, asked deku to move in, took deku out on the first date, etc. he had to give deku this one thing

bkg and deku confirm every rumor the tabloids spread about them just for fun. they like to spread misinformation so heroes weekly readers thing bkg cheated on deku while pros off duty readers think bkdk are pregnant from a quirk accident

ask game: https://deadwriter16.tumblr.com/post/672342582601383936/stealing-fizzychocolatemilks-ask-game-cause-its

[willel]

I just thought about Hopper actually talking to Will about PTSD and his experience of going to war and coming home and everything was different and he was different and *cries*. I was reading a jopper fic and like 20 yo hopper is talking about how he feels 'unthere' being back in Hawkins and I'm just like. This is Will post s1/s2. I just want them to have some MOMENTS so bad ok. Thanks ily for listening.

Funnily enough, Hopper already brought up soldiers and PTSD to Joyce and Will, but Will was walking far ahead of them cause he wanted to get the hell away from Hawkins Lab as soon as possible. Also Hopper passed it off ass "I know some FRIENDS who suffer from that, the doctor is probably right."

Hopper totally gets what Will is feeling.

I can picture Will having a panic attack and even though Jonathan is about to jump in to save the day, maybe Hopper slightly jumps in and gets Will to breath, kinda like what he did for Joyce twice in the Upside Down when she was panicking/having a meltdown

[oursonwithagirl]

the issue with mike’s love confession to el in season 4

this all revolves around michael wheeler. mike’s recurring problem in seasons 3 and 4 has been vocalizing his love to his girlfriend. he’s said it when he was surrounded by people which he claims was “heat of the moment”. yet it’s shown time and time again that he can’t get it out to eleven unprompted. (keep in mind that the only other person shown on the show to also have this issue is nancy, who couldn’t express her love vocally to steve because she wasn’t actually in love with him.)

this perspective contrasts greatly with el, who can vocalize it and mean it. this says a lot based on her neglectful and abusive childhood and how she really only starts to learn what love even is at the age of 12. eleven is being open and vulnerable in the relationship and this is clear in the show. mike shouldn’t have any reason to believe that his love isn’t being reciprocated by her.

mike’s monologue to el in the s4 finale is riddled with cliches “i feel like my life started the day i found you in those woods”, untrue statements “i’ve never felt scared of you”, and overemphasis “i’ve loved you every day since. i love you on your good days. i love you on your bad days”. overemphasis of phrases is used a lot in persuasive techniques to convince people of things. (kinda like the “we’re friends. we’re friends.” in which mike was trying to convince himself.) within mike’s confession, he finally gives his reason for not being able to say ily to el. it’s this: “i’m scared one day you’ll realize you won’t need me anymore. i thought that if i said how i felt, it would somehow make that day hurt more”.

based on mike’s excuse, he knows that he loves el, he just can’t say it to her, but he still wants her to know it. he tries to make her feel loved more through his actions than his words. by this point, eleven also knows mike loves her, but she wants to hear it. mike is hyper aware that he’s dodging these words: “i’m sorry i don’t say it more” ummm you never do. mike is anticipating that eleven will eventually leave him and when it occurs, he’ll feel better knowing he didn’t tell her that he loved her. 🤔 but the thing is, the day she leaves him will already hurt mike bc he understands intrinsically, without speaking aloud, that he loves el. interesting.

it’s important that this issue doesn’t have at all to do with will specifically, it’s about mike himself and his internal battle with the way he feels about eleven. mike’s character during the past 2 seasons has been about obsessing over his girlfriend, unless there is something deeper there (internalized homophobia, repression, and hiding from truth).

there were many other ways for mike to explain why he was not able to vocalize ily to el, and here are a few

- the whole parents not loving each other reason. this explanation actually circulated around quite a bit on social media before volume 2 was released. this really could’ve been given some time had it been explored. however it wasn’t mentioned in the slightest.

- vulnerability: it can be hard to say the word “love” bc the person trying to say it can feel weak and exposed to the people that they’re admitting it to or even any people that happen to hear them say it. but mike does say that he loves her in front of many close family and friends in s3 so this argument has no support.

- ptsd and trauma: again, another super valid and realistic way that his inability to express his love verbally could’ve been shown. yet in mike’s case, he’s one of the characters on the show that is seemingly unaffected by his life events. as finn once said in an interview “deep down there’s some trauma, but that doesn’t come out”.

basically, mike doesn’t mean it, not in that way. which he doesn’t think is okay or acceptable. given the way he reacts so hurt to the bullies in s1 when they make fun of will by insinuating that he’s gay, i’m sure mike’s at least partially aware of what will was subjected to by lonnie. bc of the time period and what his best friend went through, he does not want that for himself. so he pushes it back, and tries to reverse his thinking, his actions, his feelings. and when the opportunity arises for him to be normal and get a girlfriend, he jumps at it.

but why doesn’t he just lie about it right away then? maybe cuz of what happens early in season 3. with the help of max, el establishes that lies in relationships are bad, mike eventually stops this and isn’t able to vocalize romantic love to el. but in s4 he learns through will that el lied to him while she was away and even on their first day back reunited, so maybe he takes that as being okay to also lie and do the same to her again. at least in a moment where it comes down to saving her life right ? 😃 also… anyone else curious if mike is gonna be able to say it to her in season 5 just normally now?

this season seemed to showcase that mike ultimately would’ve rather had el leave him than live his life even further in a lie by not meaning what he’s feeling and what he says to her. it was building up to this in episodes 1-5. the desert scene with will was really helping him come to this realization, and after all, in a week he’s flying back to hawkins for who knows how long and spending more time away from her. the only time he would put up with this big of a lie, worst case scenario, is if it were to possibly save her in life or death situation. voila monologue

but idk lol

[tears-0f-the-lynx]

xX read me! Xx

yandere blog is @loversick

dont ask me if im ok + try to reassure me or the likes /nm i just wanna exist<3 ily all mwah /p

if you kno me from elsewhere, no you dont. pls dni !

first, if you ever want to vent to me, ask! i may not be able to help/give advice, but im more than happy to lend an ear!

xX tw's Xx

X guns (wow big surprise)

X drug abuse (i joke abt using drugs but do not!)

X self harm + suicide that good shit

X homelessness

X family issues

X csa + sa

X child neglect + abuse

X ed stuff

X ptsd

X dysphoria + dysmorphia

X dereality/liminal spaces

they are not regularly tagged

xX dni Xx

X your common sense stuff. dont be a bitch

X id prefer if you were over 18, but i really dont care atp

X anti-recovery/endorse or encourage mental illnesses and their symptoms

X ddlg/cgl + variants or endorse age play yall are fucking nasty.

X romanticize irl murderers or ykno

xX abt acct Xx

X obviously i let shit out here. i come here to be less upbeat; it gets tiring sometimes, so sorry if i sound rude. thats not what i intend

X i talk a lot about banana fish, but this is obviously not bfish blog. i use the series and particularly ash lynx to project my trauma. as if he wasnt traumatized enough

X honestly a good amount of posts are just things i dont want on main lol but its also kinda a diary so oops i overshare shrugging emoji

X check tags to see if something is ok to rb or not

X some nsfw things may come up, but not straight up porn

X recovery/positivity posts are rare, but we all need them :]

X my own nonsense is under #worthless cries

X i tend to go here if im regressed, so babytalk sometimes comes up. i like to delete it when im big again, though

xX what is tagged Xx

any blood/sensitive visuals will never be significantly graphic. will be updated as other things appear. this just a forewarning!

X blood (#tw blood)

X nsfw (#tw nsft + #tw nsfw)

X suicide visuals (#tw suicide visual)

X religion (#tw religion + #tw religious imagery)

[vergaytim]

okay i’m gonna make this one on here and not @vergaytim cause i have legit 5 followers on there while there’s 700 of you (damn) here, and the overall message of this is fucking important. if you want to you can skip the story, and please take note of the tws!!!

having a mental illness is okay. taking medication for mental illnesses is okay. seeing a psychiatrist/psychologist/therapist is okay. if someone ever treats you worse because you tell them something like this, i’ll send a nice punch their way. i did karate for a few years, sooooo...

(tw: mental illnesses, ableism/bullying, medication)

fun fact about me! i have a fuckload of mental illnesses! i’ve had ocd ever since i was in about fourth grade, and that was the first time i ever really came face to face with a mental illness besides from social anxiety. no one told me i had adhd until i was in eighth grade, even though i had been diagnosed with it for quite a while. i do have a reliable diagnosis despite not being tested, but let’s just say living with a psychologist for 15 years is long enough. i suppose my mom knew i had adhd ever since i was in middle school, maybe earlier, but she didn’t tell me. i don’t really know why she didn’t, because honestly it would’ve helped a lot with some self esteem issues i had to know that there’s actually a reason for this and this isn’t bad. now, my mom not realizing how bad my adhd is, that’s another thing for another time. why does my neurotypical brother get fidget toys but i’m not allowed them? i don’t think i’ll ever know. to sum myself up, i have mild social anxiety, ocd, depression and adhd all diagnosed, and i’m self-diagnosed with ptsd.

ever since i was young i was always one to stand out. i desperately wanted to fit in, and as soon as i met people with a common interest of mine, i wanted to become friends with them right away. why? i just don’t think anyone else really wanted to listen to me. over time people’s interests change, and mine did as well as my friends’. but the difference between us is that while they were going on with their lives and getting involved in many things, i’d jump from interest to interest, and that would be the only thing i’d talk about. i didn’t want to talk about anything else except for that one thing. i don’t think any of my former friends had ill intentions, but only a few months after i had been diagnosed with adhd, there were some things that eventually started to go around between everyone. there was a kid who i knew in elementary school who also had adhd, and a lot of people knew that. i haven’t seen him since fifth grade, but my ex friends were speaking ill of this kid, and tying it into adhd. now i wasn’t exactly a fan of this guy either (he kinda bullied me in first grade) but it really annoyed me. something to know about me is that i don’t know when to shut my mouth, but i’m glad i didn’t then. i simply told them that i had adhd too, so if they’re talking bad about him for it they’re practically doing the same to me. the responses weren’t exactly fantastic (ie: that makes sense), which is why they’re all former friends, and the aftermath was worse. i was being treated differently, like i was an outcast all over again. luckily i found some better people who wanted to listen to me, and i wanted to listen to them. 

recently, i started medication to help with my anxiety, depression and adhd. for some stupid fucking reason, being medicated for mental illnesses is seen as bad. why? a very fucked up reason that i don’t quite know. my brain doesn’t produce some chemicals and shit to help keep me sane, so yeah, i’ll take some extra adrenaline and dopamine if that’ll help. if you think medication for mental illness is bad, get the fuck off my page! i’m watching that follower count too- i hope it doesn’t drop a ton after i make this post. that just means a bunch of shitheads are following me, and i don’t want you here! same goes for people who bully people for mental illness, or just bullies in general. go away!

thanks for reading my rambles on here. it means more than you’d think, and i just wanna spread the message around- THIS IS ALL OKAY. YOU ARE NOT ANY LESS OF A HUMAN BEING FOR WHAT YOU ARE DEALING WITH. ily you all, stay safe <3

[pikemoreno]

colors

pairing: catfish morales x reader

summary: a summer with frankie, as told by colors

word count: 5k

warnings: mentions of drug use (but no actual use!), talk of frankie’s past (so there’s some violence, death, ptsd), there’s some fluff, some angst, what can ya do!

a/n: an idea brought about by a similar fic i’d written for another fandom + talking about what summer with frankie is like with @lesqui​. 

i liked it for a while. now i’ve stared at it so long that i kinda hate it. but hopefully you enjoy it at least a little!

( @hdlynn​, this is me tagging you as requested. ily.)

Summers with Frankie were green. 

Frankie was ever the outdoorsman. He would spend every single hour of the warm days outside if he could, sleeping with the canopy of leaves as a ceiling, the soft grass as a floor, and a hammock strung between trees the only thing separating him from either. He did it on multiple occasions over the warm days: spending the night in the backyard. The less-than-luxurious sleeping arrangements weren’t exactly doing wonders for his aching, overused joints, but it did wonders for his mind. Disconnecting like that calmed him in ways nothing else ever could. Sometimes he’d go by himself to get away, but he didn’t like it nearly as much as when you or Santiago went with him. (He had found too much time in complete solitude outside had the opposite effect; too much time to think.) You were, of course, more than happy to oblige and go with him.

“It includes a nice view. And you... An even nicer view,” you would tell him, “Of course I wanna join.” That always sent warmth right to his cheeks.

The views were nice: wispy clouds and darkening skies interrupted by the trees that stretched overhead, their colors muting as night overtook the forested backyard; and beautiful Frankie, setting up his hammock. You watched from your hammock as he pulled his own taught, admiring the muscles in his back that were visible beneath his henley. You didn’t think you were staring that hard but then...

“Admiring that view, sweetheart?” he asked as he turned around, pleased with his work and the way your gaze rested heavily on him.

“Mhmm… Why are you bothering with that one anyway? You know you’re not gonna be using it. You’re gonna be over here in mine--” You didn’t finish. He’d sauntered over, hands resting on the fabric on either side of your head. 

“Go on. What am I gonna be doing instead?” he breathed, teasing. 

“Probably me.”

“You think so?” he hummed, “Maybe I should be bringing you out here more often.” His arms still supported him as he hovered above you just out of reach. You were growing painfully impatient

“Oh, just shut up and fucking kiss me already.” You swatted at his arm to get him to come down to your level and he took no more time in-- finally-- meeting your lips. You snagged the cap off of his head, letting it fall to the grass below. He was already too entranced to notice, but he certainly did notice the way your fingers tangled in his hair, the way your lips parted upon contact. He deepened the kiss in response, shakily getting himself onto the hammock to kneel over you and free up his hands. The kiss only broke when he let out an: 

“Oh shi--”. 

In a split second, you felt the hammock tip precariously to one side before it returned to normal. You opened your eyes to find Frankie, still hovering just above you, looking as though he’d just escaped death: wide eyes, heavy breaths, hands gripping the edges of the hammock’s fabric. You felt the breath of his laugh against your lips and a mumbled:

“Whoops.”

You laughed too. The kissing resumed, full of life and breath and utter joy, eventually travelling to your jaw and neck, hitting every spot he knew so well. Both of your hands travelling lower, lower…

You were right, of course. There was absolutely no need for the second hammock. It hung lamely from the two oak trees, moved only by strong breezes and not the shifting weight of a body. As expected, Frankie never left yours. 

“I almost died getting up here. There’s no way I’m pressing my luck by trying to leave tonight,” he argued as he pulled you in to himself.

“Sure,” you quipped back, letting your head rest on his chest. The henley had long since been discarded, laying on the grass with the cap. You sighed at the closeness: legs tangled; an arm, gentle, but strong around you; fingers drawing light patterns on your own bared shoulder. The trees above you and the stars just past them seemed closer too, all wrapping you up in serene safety as you drifted off.

Summers with Frankie were green. Green like the trees and the grass that surrounded you that night. Green like the feelings of safety and harmony that bloomed in your chest.

Summers with Frankie were blue. 

There was a creek near the house Frankie grew up in. It was the last stop of many on the grand tour he had taken you on through his old childhood haunts, and it was probably the one he was most excited for. Sure, he was excited that you’d gotten to meet his parents for lunch and see his old house and all of the memories with it, but his old creek. This was hallowed ground.

He led you over rocks and down slopes to the “best spot” on the creek. Despite the way the creek you sought was rushing mere feet away, you continued farther and farther down the cragged, unforged path. 

“I promise, this other spot is way better. It’s calm and it’s not as rocky and there’s this rope swing we put up one summer and--” He went on and on, praising the place of his childhood. You didn’t understand the difference between here and there, but you trusted the enthusiasm in his eyes and his years of experience, which he obviously had. Frankie’s feet still knew every step as if he could see a trail where you couldn’t. With every “careful here” and “hold on let me go first,” as he slid down a steep slope, it was as if he’d carved the path into the earth himself. He pointed out memories to you as you walked on.

“This scar here?” he briefly pointed to a raised mark on the back of his calf and then a boulder more than twice your height to your right. “My best friend in 5th grade dared me to jump off it. Fell on my ass and a rock stuck in my leg at the bottom.” You winced at the thought. “Yeah, it felt like it sounds. Cracked my tailbone too, couldn’t sit right for a month.” He fell into step with you and laced your fingers together. “But... “ He turned toward the river now, taking you through the patch of trees to where the forest floor sloped down to meet the bank. 

It really was better here.

The harsh rocks gave way to soft, silty ground and then quiet, lapping waters. It really was the perfect spot for a lazy swim and a jump from the rope that hung from a solitary tree, grown sideways over the bank. Otherwise, the tree canopy fell away here to the brightest skies that warmed the current-smoothed rocks further down the way. It took your breath away, not the way the Grand Canyon does, or the beautiful clear seas of some far off island paradise, but in its own little way, especially as you saw it through Frankie’s eyes. It was the rose-colored view of a boy grasping onto memories that were kinder to him than these recent years had been. You memorized the brightness of his face, the glow had little to do with the summer sun warming his cheeks and everything to do with worlds colliding: the pure joy of bringing his favorite person to his favorite place, like a child dragging you to the toy store window. You ran down to the water like those children, leaving socks and shoes and cover-ups strewn in your wake.

Your newly bare toes sank into the muddy, silty bank. It squished in a gross way, but the cool earth felt so good. The light waves lapped against your toes and little minnows swam up to check you out, darting away in scaly flashes when you took a step. Frankie was quick to get right into the water, testing his old beloved rope swing. The branch creaked with the unfamiliar weight, but held strong as he flung himself into the water, creating unnatural waves in it that raced all the way to you, where you were thigh deep in the cool depths now.

Five seconds… Ten… Then twenty. You looked a little nervously to where the rings had now diminished, but you were looking in all the wrong places. Frankie had swam over to you, using the opacity of the water to sneak up on you. You were none the wiser when he grabbed your ankle, causing you to gasp with a few choice expletives as you fell into the water with a splash. You could hear Frankie’s muffled laugh as he rose from underneath the surface as you became submerged in it. You shot back up, spluttering.

“What the hell, Frankie?” He was still laughing.

“Sorry,” he managed to wheeze out. He wasn’t. You narrowed your eyes playfully as he finally calmed down. “Really. I didn’t think it’d scare you that badly.” He wrapped his arms around your waist and you wrapped yours around his neck as you both drifted further into the water.

“What did you think would snatch you in a 7 foot deep creek? A shark?”

“A catfish?” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him. “I guess one did.” 

“I’ll always snatch you up.”

“Nerd.”

“Dork.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You couldn’t tell if the kiss or the creek made you feel like you were floating.

After fingers and toes turned pruney you laid out on the pleasantly warm, almost unnaturally smooth rocks to dry. The deep sky above went on forever and left you with eyes half-lidded, warm and happy.

“You know, I had my first kiss on this rock,” Frankie broke the comfortable silence. 

“Is that why you brought me here? This where you bring all the girls, casanova?” He gave you a little shove. 

“Jealous?”

“Of your, what? 9th grade girlfriend? Absolutely not.”

“8th grade, actually.” 

“Was that before or after your 5th grade best friend stole your date to the 8th grade dance?” you teased, turning on your side to look at him, head resting on your hand. 

“After.” he grinned at the memory, “It was Sally Mason. My rebound,” he teased. 

“An 8th grade rebound,” you mused.

“Yeah, not much to be jealous of. The kiss was pretty bad anyway. We knocked our teeth together, eyes open,” he shook his head, “I’ve gotten a lot better since then.”

“Oh have you?” He gaped.

“Have I not?”

“You should probably remind me.”

“Not after that comment.” He pouted, but the dimple that rose in his cheek ruined the act. He couldn’t stop the grin.

“Come onnn, don’t you wanna take this old rock for another spin?” you crawled over until your face was hovering above his. You kissed either cheek, then several more pecks in quick succession when he didn’t respond. He broke, pulling you down to bring his lips to yours.

“Much better,” he murmured against your lips before leaving another quick peck.

Darkening skies eventually sent you home, delightfully tired. Frankie was quiet on the way back, but you chalked it up to the exhausted bliss you also felt. The long day in the sun had you passing out immediately after falling into bed. You were so utterly dead to the world that you didn’t notice when Frankie didn’t immediately join you. 

***

He sat on the edge of the bed for a while, hoping your soft breathing behind him and the darkness and the comfort of the mattress would bring some semblance of peace.

It didn’t. 

His thoughts were so very loud they woke him right back up; and worrying about sleeping made him spiral that much further, just another thought racing around and around with the others. He needed to be busy, to work himself into exhaustion like forcing a computer to power down. He moved to the kitchen to pace without disturbing you.

He hated what life had made of him.

He hated how his favorite place had seen him like this. The place he spent all of his school years living and breathing in had seen an entirely different man than what he had remembered. It had remained the same: steadfast, reliable, safe. Every tree and hill and hole was exactly the same.

But it felt so different, foreign. Like the woods he loved didn’t quite recognize him the way he recognized them.

It was hallowed ground and he was a sinner.

He’d seen war and death-- caused war and death--, and he still saw it everywhere he went. The creek looked red with the blood he spilled.

Not its fault, but his. 

He hated how different it was. This was supposed to be a special day, sharing a place so full of fond memories with the person he wanted to make a life’s worth of new memories with. Instead, it left him wanting, wishing he was still the person he was: a little older, sure, maybe a little smarter, but with the same curiosity and innocence and joy, the same zest for life. Not this man who was so hurt and untrusting and angry. He wanted to be like that boy again. He wanted it for her, she deserved better. For his favorite place, so that it would remember him the  and, he guessed, for himself too. 

His hands rested on the cool countertop, trying to get his breathing under control, willing the threat of tears away. This was bullshit. Things were how they were, he was who he was, and it was just a fucking creek. He shouldn’t be fucking crying. 

He’d be fine in the morning, he decided, but for now, he needed to numb it. He debated for a moment, fingers gripping onto and then relaxing against the edge of the counter before he pushed away from it and to one long-forgotten little cabinet in the kitchen.

He’d fully kicked the coke habit months ago. After coming back from South America for the last time-- the actual last time-- it just didn’t matter so much anymore. Being that close to his death once again reminded him just how fragile his life was and how much better he could be doing.

In its wake, it left a lot of problems that he didn’t know what to do with. You were always there; and it meant more than you could ever know, really. But even your soft touches and listening ear-- and some well-placed tough love-- could not drown everything out.

He needed to be numb again.

If he remembered right, he had the tiniest amount of the substance left in the back of the cabinet. There wasn’t really a reason to keep it, but just knowing he had it if he needed it made him feel safer in some crooked, fucked up way. He didn’t tell you about that part. 

He had barely begun to walk away from the cabinet when he heard footsteps on hardwood. He met sleepy eyes that looked between the clear bag in his hand and his grim face. He watched the heartbreak take root in those eyes he loved. Your shoulders slumped a little and your hand gently, sleepily reached out to him,

“Cat,” you whispered. You were so clearly disappointed. You had been his biggest cheerleader in this and now he was going back to square one. He was such a screw up. All at once he realized what he was doing. The baggy fell to the floor and he crumpled onto his knees behind it, sobbing into his hands in a way he hadn’t done in months.

“I can’t do it,” he mumbled. He felt your presence now on the floor next to him, felt your hand as it lovingly rubbed his back.

“What can’t you do, my love?” 

Anything. 

He didn’t respond. He just cried as your hand kept rubbing soothing circles. You were too good to him. You knew exactly what he needed, of course. He didn’t need overbearing attempts at comforting, he didn’t need a solution, he just needed a comfortable, patient presence until he could figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffed, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” you pressed a feather light kiss to his hair, “You have nothing to be sorry for, you hear me? You’re ok, baby. Just take some deep breaths for me.” He did.  “Good, that’s good. You’re alright, Frankie.” His breathing evened and the two of you sat on the floor, backs against the counter. You gently played with his fingers as the last remaining sniffles subsided. 

“I-- I’m,” he started trying to explain, but there were no words.

“Shh,” you soothed, “Not a conversation we need to have tonight. Let’s go to bed, yeah?” You stood with him, arms around each other as you walked back to bed.

When you were both laid down, lights off, your back against his chest, his arm laying over your waist, you whispered his name.

“Hmm?” he answered, dreamily. 

“You know that I’m here for you right? For whatever you need. You don’t need to try to get rid of it with that shit? I’m here to work through anything with you.”

“Yeah, I know.” The silence after demanded more be said, but nothing more came. 

“Yeah, I know.” I know you’re here, but I don’t want your help. The quiet taunted you.

 He finally let sleep take him. Yours came uncomfortably. 

Summers with Frankie were blue.

Blue like the easy lapping waters and the blazing blue of the sky on a sunny, lazy day. Blue like his memories, now tainted with time. Blue like the sinking feeling in your chest when you realized there was nothing you could do about it. 

Summers with Frankie were red. 

You woke up groggily to beaming light and an empty bed. As the memories of the early morning hours flooded back, you panicked, wondering if he-- 

Fear won out over exhaustion and you ran to the kitchen. 

The bag of white powder was gone from the floor. Frankie was at the sink, scrubbing fiercely at a mug. That couldn’t be good.

“I took care of it,” he stated blankly over his shoulder. He was already so embarrassed, so angry at himself. He didn’t want to have this conversation.

“Took care of it, how?” He all but slammed the mug down. That was the wrong question right about now.

“I didn’t use it, if that’s what you mean.” There was an unmistakable bite to his tone. It startled you a little. Frankie was as mild-mannered as they came. You’d seen him angry, sure; no one was perfect. But it had never before been directed at you. It stung.

“Frankie, I-” you tried to backtrack

“You think I’ve been using again?” He was turned fully now to face you, but his fingers gripped the edge of the counter behind him, knuckles turning white with the pressure: angry, panicking.

“And what the hell am I supposed to think after last night? Hmm? I found you in here taking--” you froze then bolted to the cabinet. Frankie tried to argue, to stop you, but it was too late. You had the offending substance in your hand, and your frustration was burning as hot as his now. You stomped to the bathroom.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“What you should’ve done months ago,” your tone was poisonous.

“I need it!” He tried to yank it out of your hand. 

“No you don’t!”

“I need it! Just in case. Just in case I-”

“Why am I not enough Frankie?” you finally yelled out. He dropped his hold on the bag. It fell back into your hand. It felt so incredibly heavy. You dropped it.

“What?” All of the anger was gone from his voice. It was light as a whisper. “Shit, do you think that’s what this is? That it’s your fault?” His expression grew softer, contrasting the prominence of the crease between his eyebrows as he tilted his head at you. You ran your hands through your hair in frustration, walking out of the bathroom. He followed.

“We’re not done here, baby. Don’t walk away from me.” The hallway had never felt more constricting. His hands came to your waist, spinning you to face him. Eyes searched your face, waiting for your answer

“Yes, Frankie. Yes. I feel like I failed you. I feel like I haven’t helped you like I should. That’s how most people deal with their problems: they talk to someone, they work through it. Obviously I’ve done something wrong here because that’s not what happened. You shouldn’t have to turn to drugs instead of me.” You shook your head, trying to clear your watering eyes. “You got help. You don’t need this anymore.” The breath he took in was sharp.

“I know… I know.” Hands squeezed lightly against your waist. “But what I was feeling yesterday. I- I can’t put that on you. What I’ve seen and done and how that affects me… It’s not always something I can just talk about. It’s a lot, it’s heavy. You haven’t experienced it and I don’t want you to, even second-hand. It’s not a you thing. It’s just a-- thing.” Your eyes went to the floor, but he lifted your chin back up to meet your eyes. “It’s not on you, you got that? You’ve done so much for me. More than you know. Sometimes it’s just… Too much for either of us. It can’t be solved that easily all the time.” You nodded. 

“It still doesn’t mean that should be your go-to instead, Cat.” He sighed.

“You’re right. It shouldn’t. I gotta find a better coping method when I can’t talk to you, or it’s too late to call one of the guys about it. But for now,” he punctuated by taking you by the hand, walking you back to the bathroom, and picking up the bag that started all of this. He held it up, presenting it to you before flushing every last bit of it. He smiled back at you. He looked so proud of himself. The weight that he carried on his shoulders looked as if it’d become twenty pounds lighter.

“That’s for you.” 

“No…” Your arms went around his neck and his found your waist once again. “...It’s for you. That is the best thing you could’ve done for yourself. Proud of you, Cat.” You brought your foreheads together, resting there a minute.

“I love you.” It was so lightly whispered that you might’ve missed it completely if you hadn’t felt it on your lips. “And I’m sorry I got angry. It wasn’t at you.”

“I love you. I’m sorry I got angry too.” You stole a quick, forgiving kiss, then pulled back. “Now, I don’t know about you, but my sleep last night was terrible.” He nodded in agreement. “Care to join me for a nap?” 

“Yes please.”

The rest of the afternoon was full of soft embraces and apologies for misunderstandings. You floated in and out of consciousness, broken up only by instances of “more strenuous activities”, quick kitchen runs for snacks, and one shared shower.

Day blended seamlessly into night until your dreams were interrupted by a far off whisper and a vague feeling of being shaken. You blinked awake and met Frankie’s grinning eyes. It was still pitch black outside.

“C’mon,” he whispered, clambering back to the edge of the bed to lace up his shoes.

“What time is it?” you murmured.

“Late,” you heard the grin in his voice. “Well, early, actually, I guess.”

“What are we doing?” 

“Don’t worry about it. That’s my job.” He looked back at you, “Hungry?” You considered a moment.

“Yeah, actually. Is this a Hal’s run?”

“Shhh.. You’re ruining it. What are you still doing in bed? Go get ready!”

“Alright, alright. Sheesh. Wakes me up at,” you finally looked at the clock as you crawled out of bed, “4am and now he’s all bossy.” He threw a pillow at you; you laughed.

Twenty minutes later you were sitting in Frankie’s pick-up, windows down as he drove. The rush of wind against your face brought the smells of the fields you passed: grass and wildflowers and something distinctly summer. The crickets were chirping loud and proud, a perfect compliment to the soft music from the radio. There was no talking, but it was a comfortable silence. The most comfortable you’ve ever felt. Sodium vapor streetlights intermittently interrupted the darkness behind your eyelids as you closed your eyes to take it all in. 

“You ok?” came a whisper as light as the breeze.

“Never been better,” you whispered back. You heard him chuckle as musical as the crickets.

The best diner in the city coming into view was by far the most beautiful sight you’d seen in weeks. You’d seen it often during the evening hours, as the sun went down and the last remains of the “dinner rush” finished (which consisted of fifteen parties in the tiny place instead of the usual five). It was kind of beautiful like this. Hauntingly beautiful. It looked like one of the places where time doesn’t exist. Its neons flashed between “Hal’s Diner” and “Open 24 hours” in gaudy fashion for no one in particular-- there were no cars in the lot and none on the road at this hour

You liked to think Hal’s single handedly proved the theory that hole-in-the-wall places always serve the best food. The sign on the window read “Hal’s: Since 1962.” You thought it should read “Hal’s: Has not updated since 1962.” 

But none of that mattered once they put down that plate of just-greasy-enough diner food. As you popped a fry in your mouth you decided that if torn and re-taped leather booths and old light fixtures meant they could keep serving food like this, then that is perfectly fine with you.

You really tried to keep your voices hushed in reverence of the graveyard shift employees who looked utterly exhausted, but you couldn’t contain your laughter as you watched Frankie bang on the back of a ketchup bottle, only to have nearly a quarter of the bottle splatter onto his plate. He gaped at it as you cackled.

“Gee, Frankie, want some fries with your ketchup?” you teased once you had control of yourself again. You dipped one of your fries in the pile.

“It’s too early for this shit,” he muttered to himself, closing the bottle and putting it back. But the grin you shared told you he wouldn’t give up these silly little 5am moments for anything.

When you’d devoured all of your food-- and some of the ketchup-- you left a generous tip on the table for the poor waitress and headed back out into the balmy summer air. The clock on the dash read 6:15am and you found yourselves passing the beginnings of morning commuters. You looked at him as you passed by the road to go home, about to question him, but he only smiled back at you with a look that said “trust me.”

Summers with Frankie were red. Red like deep hurts and anger at what can’t be changed. Red like danger signs. Red like diner neons and a gratuitous pile of ketchup. Red like love blossoming after a harsh storm.

As Frankie drove up a mountain pass at 6:45 on one of the last summer days, you thought about the summer spent with him. It was all of those colors: harmonic greens, calming blues, and overwhelming reds; and as you looked at the man next to you, putting his pick-up into park and telling you to “c’mon”, you decided he was too. He was all of those colors.

He was softly green. He preferred to be surrounded by green, after all; it was no wonder that it bled into him so effortlessly. He was so easy-going and mild-mannered, seeking peace and happiness with those around him. To you, he was safety; reliable as the grass beneath your feet.

But he had his blues. He was calming and joyful, free as the birds in a light blue sky. You saw that in him as you watched him tumble off of the rope swing or crack jokes with his dad. It was light and breezy, but too soon followed by blues of darkest night. You wished you could take the dark blues right out of him. Someone like him should never have to face dark blue feelings and dark blue memories. All you could do was stay with him in the storm.

But he was red too and it was a double-edged sword. He was one of the most passionate people you’d ever met, for better or worse. His usual mild-mannered attitude could not hold its own against the fury of injustice or bitter wishes that the world be different or, heartbreakingly, unbridled anger at himself for the pain he’s inflicted. But oh was he just as passionate about you: loving you, laughing with you, making things work with you. That passion that lead to anger was the same passion that loved you more deeply than anything. 

But then again, no. 

You sat in the truck bed with your Frankie, watching the sun rise over an untouched valley. The view was absolutely breathtaking. All of the sunrise’s swirling hues melted together so they were inseparable from one another, making a new color all its own. You decided it then:

Frankie wasn’t just green, blue, and red, all separate and incompatible with one another.

He was so much more, a swirling shade all his own. 

Every bit of it was him, and it was your favorite color.

(Moodboards by @aerynwrites)